


Patience of a Saint

by AlynnaStrong



Category: Mysterious Ways
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Laboratories, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2019-01-06 08:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12207180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong
Summary: An episode-like story investigating what type of person could enjoy being Miranda's lab partner.





	Patience of a Saint

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while the show was on the air & recently came across it on my hard drive. I figure, I read the AO3 Mysterious Ways past archive; maybe someone else will as well. Anyway, it has more chance of making someone smile here than confined to my hard drive.

**9:00am Physics Lab, Friday, Report Day**

Graduate Level Applied Physics Lab had a reputation as such a demanding class that it scared most students away before the second lecture. Required course work included a mid-term, a final, a research paper, and an in-class assignment every Friday. Each week on Report Day, the different lab teams received separate projects. They had one hour to plot a strategy, perform the experiment, and organize their results. Then, each team made a 20 minute presentation for the rest of the class.

The Report Day requirement had nearly driven morbidly introverted Miranda to drop the class. After all, it wasn't a graduation requirement, just a bit a extra prestige – a 'if you can make it through this class you can do anything' - character builder. Miranda's pride wouldn't let her miss it, though. Her randomly assigned lab partner was Kyra Dementieva, a friendly young woman with curly brown hair, expressive blue eyes and, in Miranda's opinion, an annoyingly outgoing personality. Miranda could especially have done without Kyra's tendency to touch her during causal conversation. Not that Kyra was perfectly satisfied at first either – as a fervent animal rights supporter, she found Miranda's leather jacket simply appalling. Fortunately, the two reached appropriate compromises. Miranda began to hang her jacket in the back of the classroom, and they sat with a stool between them to cut down on the inadvertent touching.

Now, Report Day could not run more smoothly for their team. After the assignments are handed out, Kyra watches her partner in awe as Miranda works through the experiment. At first Kyra had tried to help, but Miranda never responded with anything other than "Don't touch that," or "Ssshh". Kyra, who had cruised through her undergraduate years thanks in large part to her photographic memory, eventually had to admit that Miranda was much better at efficiently designing experiments. Afterward, Miranda spends the rest of the hour explaining to Kyra what she had done and why it works. This is either accomplished by monosyllables and pointing ("this...goes here...then down...splits...now up...") or a monotone stream of technobabble that could embarrass the most shameless Star Trek scriptwriter.

When their turn in the presentations rolls around, it is Kyra's turn to shine. Charismatic by nature, Kyra turns Miranda's scientifically flawless but nigh incomprehensible solutions into something a bright grade school kid could understand. Miranda didn't tend to watch Kyra's skillful presentations. After explaining the solution, Miranda would zone out, usually to think about whatever mess Declan has planned for them this weekend. This has the side benefit that she doesn't have to notice that the rest of the class is watching their lab bench as Kyra gives the report.

Today, as usual, during Kyra's presentation Miranda kept a tiny fraction of her mind listening for Professor Delano to ask: "Miranda, do you have anything to add?" Miranda, as always, said "No." Professor Delano nodded, gave them an 'A' and moved on. The system worked perfectly.

  


**1:00 pm, after class**

Miranda had just finished packing up to leave class when Kyra turned to her with a gentle and somewhat mischievous smile. "Would you like to go get something for lunch?" Kyra asked.

 _Well, that's an annoying bit of backsliding_ , Miranda thought, _I had hoped she'd finally understood that I don't want to hang out with that huge group of friends of hers._ "No. Busy," Miranda replied.

"C'mon, It'd be fun, just you and me. We could go to this place I know on Third Street."

 _Third Street...that would be 'Tofu Palace'. Bleck._ "Uhh...I have work."

"Just coffee, then? It'll be quick."

 _Persistence like that can only mean one thing._ "You want something, don't you?"

"Yes. Sorry, am I that transparent?" Kyra genuinely looked sorry. "We really should go out every Friday to celebrate our newest 'A'. I just know you don't like hanging around with the whole mob. But there's no reason the two of us couldn't go somewhere. There are all kinds of good places..."

 _Oh good. I've guilted her into making me eat vegan food once a week._ "What did you want?"

"It's hard to explain. I mean it's sort of a weird problem. I really feel like I need to tell someone about it, though." Kyra looked pleadingly at Miranda.

Not to be won over just yet, Miranda asked, "What about your friends?"

A broad but self-deprecating smile spread across Kyra's face. "They already call me 'Demented' because of my name. I don't need to give them any actual ammunition. And you and Professor Dunn are always investigating weird stuff. I just thought maybe you could help me."

"You want to meet Professor Dunn?"

"Please. Pretty please? I'll even buy you dinner."

"Uhh, that's okay. Let's go see him now. Before dinner."

  


**1:30, Declan's Office**

"Miranda, catch." As Miranda walked through the door, Declan tossed her a lump of misshapen and melted plastic. She caught it awkwardly. "Does that look like anything to you?"

Miranda turned the colorful lump around in her hands. "A deeply defective personal massage unit?"

"Well, yeah. But does it look like any _one_ to you?"

"Emm...Budda?" Miranda guessed.

"Hey - close. Elvis. And the guy who sent it in said it cries whenever it sees a picture of Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie together."

"I don't blame it."

"Oooh, can I see?" Kyra asked stepping forward.

"Declan, this is Kyra, my lab partner. She wants to talk about," Miranda rolled her eyes toward Declan, "something weird."

"Cool! Well, any friend of Miranda's is a friend of mine."

Miranda opened her mouth to say, 'Not friend. Lab partner,' but her slowly developing sense of etiquette told her that would be wrong. She didn't really understand why people pretended to be closer than they actually were, but somehow the fact that she and Kyra weren't really friends wasn't important to Declan. Still, inaccuracy annoyed her, and a couple of months ago (before Declan had mentioned that strict honesty can be rude) she probably would have corrected him.

"So, what do you have for me, Kyra?" Declan asked.

Kyra started telling her tale a bit nervously. "Well, okay, first off I've always talked with my hands a lot." Even as she said so, she emphasized the point with dramatic arm gestures. Behind her, Miranda gave an emphatic nod. "And so sometimes when I'm thinking, you know, talking to myself...everybody does that right? I don't mean like 'kill the president' stuff but..."

Declan smiled and nodded to put her at ease, "Yeah, everybody does that." He shot a quick look back to Miranda, and Miranda was proud of herself for properly interpreting it as 'Don't correct her if she's wrong.'

"So, when I'm thinking I usually doodle. Just stupid stuff, you know, flowers, my name, squiggles, stuff like that."

"Sure." Declan was fully focused in now.

"Well, lately it's been different. I'll sort of come back from whatever I'm thinking about and find all sorts of weird stuff written on my papers or desk -- whatever was underneath my hand."

"What sort of weird stuff? A different language?"

"No, it's English and it's my handwriting. But I don't know what any of it means. It's spooky stuff like 'Get out' or 'Help Christine'. I don't even know a Christine!" She looked at Declan much more seriously than before. "Have you ever heard of anything like that before?"

"Well, it sounds like automatic writing. It's similar to a ouija board where some spiritual force may guide the pointer. Here it could be that some force is guiding your hand. How long has this been going on, exactly?"

"Weeks now -- almost all term. It's getting more frequent."

"Can you do this anytime? Now?"

"I don't think so. I could try, but it's usually when I'm tired. Like, when I'm up late working or during early morning classes."

Miranda could almost see the phrase 'someone is sending you a message from the beyond!' flashing above Declan's head in neon letters. She was impressed with his restraint when he said, "How about this -- I have a friend who's a psychiatrist. Before we start bringing in the heavy equipment, why don't we let her run some tests on you so we can rule out more earthly things like repressed memories?"

"I guess that makes sense." Kyra squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh God, Miranda, promise me that you won't tell Jackie or Ben that I'm seeing a shrink. I'd never hear the end of it."

Miranda, who so far had gone all year without talking to Ben and didn't even know Jackie, said "No problem. My lips are sealed."

Kyra flashed her a beaming smile, troubles temporarily forgotten.

  


**Monday 8pm, Declan's office**

"Hey Peggy! Pull up a chair," Declan said as he rushed to move around enough piles of paper so that Peggy would have a place to sit in his messy office. "How'd your talk with Kyra go?"

"Fine," Peggy replied as she sat down. "I'd say she's a nice, well-adjusted young woman. She's under some stress, having some trouble sleeping, and maybe a little too empathetically sensitive for her own good, but definitely not in any danger of a breakdown."

"Empathetically sensitive -- is that like psychically-"

"No, Mr. Weirdness Magnet. It means that she feels other's pain -- figuratively, not literally -- and so tends to take on a lot of projects that, strictly speaking, aren't her problem."

"Miranda says she's a flake."

"Next to Miranda, Al Gore is a flake."

"Miranda just has high standards. You don't get her yet."

"Whatever. But Kyra is very intelligent, and she's certainly not irresponsible. She's a strict vegan, you know. It takes a lot of discipline to be that serious about animal rights. No meat, milk, eggs, fur, leather...definitely not for the faint of heart."

"Okay, so she's dedicated. But you've got to admit she comes off a little ..." Declan made random twittery motions around his head.

"She's self-deprecating and doesn't present her serious side in casual company. I think she's just trying to make everyone around her feel happy and at ease because that makes her happy. That's the other side to being empathetically sensitive."

"Now she sounds like a vampire."

Peggy rolled her eyes. "There's nothing supernatural about it, Declan. She just cares about others a little too much. Even I'm not cynical enough to call that a syndrome."

"Okay, but does any of that explain the automatic writing?"

"Automatic writing is actually not all that uncommon. In layman's terms, it's a way for the subconscious to send messages to the consciousness. Often it's something deep in the heart that the subject is afraid to admit or unable to confront."

"She says she has no idea what it means. It's hardly a deep, upsetting message if she can't understand it."

"It could be a repressed childhood trauma, but that's rarer than you'd think. The explanation I'm leaning toward is more direct, even if it's something of a long shot. Tell me this, before you jumped to any conclusions about spirits or past lives, have you asked yourself how upset she actually seemed about the writing?"

"Pretty upset. You don't think she's faking it?"

"Let's put it this way: do you think a professional debunker of supernatural phenomena would even hesitate to call her a fraud when the only pieces of evidence are some cryptic notes and her ability to put on a convincing performance of not paying attention to what she's writing?"

Declan paused. "But why would she bother?"

"That's why it's a long shot...but I think she might be trying to make friends with Miranda. I'm sure Miranda's been decidedly unimpressed by Kyra's usual mix of flattery, gossip, and raw optimism. She could just be trying to reach out with something she thinks Miranda will find interesting - unexplained phenomena. Remember, a lot of Kyra's personal happiness is determined by those around her. Miranda could make a pretty big dent in her karma."

  


**Tuesday 1pm, Campus**

"Prof. Dunn!" Kyra ran up to Declan. She looked bright and energetic as usual, but also a little nervous. Some signs of the stress and lack of sleep were starting to show. "I spoke with Dr. Fowler Monday morning; she asked if she could talk with you about it. Did she?"

"Yeah, I talked with her last night." Declan smiled and tried to look reassuring.

"So," Kyra ran her fingers through her curly hair, not looking very reassured, "Dr. Fowler didn't tell me that I was crazy. Did she tell you?"

"No, she said you were normal. Of course, she says Miranda's normal too, so I'm not sure I trust her."

Kyra laughed heartily and looked much more relaxed. "Miranda's great; she's just ... different than everyone else. And that's good. I mean, not good that there's not more than one Miranda, but being an individual is a good thing."

Declan shuddered at the thought of more than one Miranda. "So, are you and Miranda good friends?"

"Well, we're a great team in the lab. I'd like to get to know her better, but she takes so many classes that we can almost never hang out." Kyra looked a little sad. Declan began to wonder if Peggy might be been right after all.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Kyra asked, changing the subject. "Miranda called you 'Declan'. Is that your first name? I've never heard that name before."

"Yeah, it's Irish. My parents though a unusual first name would be a good character builder, I suppose."

"Huh - that's interesting. I got just the opposite: a normal first name, but weird middle and last names." Kyra seemed more and more like herself, ready for open and easy conversation.

"Really; what are they?"

Kyra smiled, preparing herself for the inevitable. She kept a mental tally of who made what comments about which of her names. In her experience, people who asked about her middle names where generally nicer than those who made the obvious joke about her last name. Miranda, ever the cipher, hadn't raised an eyebrow about either one. "My full name is Kyra St. Elizabeth Dementieva."

"Saint Elizabeth?" Declan chuckled.

"Yeah, and it's even weirder since my family's not even Catholic. What happened was, I had an older brother -- have an older brother, that's sort of the point. When my mom was pregnant with me, my brother was in a really bad car wreck. The paramedics all thought that he was a goner, but they took him to St. Elizabeth's Hospital and somehow he made a complete recovery. So, when I was born, my parents named me after the hospital."

"That's...that's kinda cool, actually."

"It definitely could be worse. I could be 'Kyra Oregon Central' or 'Kyra Dr. Schwartz' had things been just a little bit different. I used to tease my brother, too. I'd tell him that he owed me a middle name and so one day I'd take his and be 'Kyra Robert'..." Kyra kept talking and turning up the charm. By the end of their conversation, Declan had to admit that Peggy was right -- Kyra was not a flake. In fact, Declan had a theory as to what she might be instead.

  


**Tuesday 3pm, Miranda's lab**

"Hey Miranda! I have an interesting theory for you."

"Hmmm," Miranda said without looking up from her work. Declan had 'interesting theories' for her a couple of times a week. At least.

"I think Kyra might be a saint."

"Kyra?" Miranda was surprised into a chortle and was glad she hadn't been holding anything breakable. "Kyra Dementieva?"

"Kyra St. Elizabeth Dementieva."

"Tell me you have more than a weird middle name, Declan. My middle name is weird, too."

"Really -- what's your middle name?"

"That's...," _none of your business_ , "not important."

Not to be derailed from a good theory, Declan went on. "She had this whole story about it. She's named after the hospital that saved her brother's life. You don't think that sounds like her parents somehow dedicated her to God?"

"Maybe...but none of her messages have been religious." Miranda looked up at Declan. He had that look in his eye that said he'd been doing research and wanted to run his entire hypothesis by her. She readied herself to play devil's advocate.

"History tells us that the messages can be a little weird. St. Teresa saw an angel stabbing her through the heart with an arrow; Joan of Arc was supposed to lead an army...but it's not just the messages in the automatic writing."

"No?"

"No, it's her personality, too. In the three treatises I've read on saints," (Miranda grinned inwardly; she had been right.) "the same words keep coming up: compassionate, charismatic, vegetarian - even in the middle ages!...sounds pretty familiar."

"Non-flaky?" Miranda muttered.

"That's not a word." Declan gently rebuked. "And as Peggy pointed out, Kyra can be pretty focused when she wants to be. You know, about animal rights."

"What about miracles? The Catholic church requires at least three confirmed miracles before considering canonization."

"Don't look so smug," Declan replied, which meant he'd done even more research than she'd thought. Miranda, of course, had not changed facial expression at all. "I've been talking to some of her friends. One girl's mother was in the hospital, in critical condition. Kyra visits her and the next day she's on the road to recovery. Another guy called her when his dog was hit by a car. She came over, sat up with them all night, and the dog got better."

Miranda gave Declan a skeptical look. "That's it?"

"Alright, so those aren't rock solid. The point is that I found them without even looking very hard. I'm telling you, she's out of the saint's blueprint except for proof of an incorruptible body."

"Incorruptible body?"

"Apparently the bodies of many saints never decay."

"Well, if you want to martyr her to test your theory, wait 'til the end of the term. She's a good lab partner."

"Very funny. So, does she ever talk about religion at all?"

"Not really. She mentioned that her grandparents lived in the Soviet Union under communism. Slight problem -- they were Jewish. Through political connections they managed to immigrate to the U.S., they said for the religious freedom. Once they got here, though, religion became less important. Kyra's father calls himself an agnostic Jew now. Kyra's never mentioned anything about her own religion...and Kyra talks a _lot_."

  


**Tuesday 4:30pm, Miranda's lab**

Miranda stared at the hated telephone. She knew it was irrational to be so uncomfortable with such a ubiquitous device, but she'd never gotten the hang of calling someone. She would pick up the receiver, realize she didn't know what she was going to say, and put it down again. She would then rehearse the conversation in her head and try again, only to hang up after dialing a few numbers when she realized her plans were incomplete. Next came planning what she would say if she got an answering machine and, if she was lucky, she would finally be able to make the call.

She wasn't like this in person. She was quiet, sure, but at least her brain still worked. The phone seemed to numb it, though, making it so that she couldn't think spontaneously. On some days, she would stare at the dreaded device for an hour mentally mapping out every possible branch of the conversation before she was able to force herself to call. Familiarity with the person on the other end, the reason for the call, and the urgency for the information all factored into how difficult actually going through with it would be.

Today was a medium-bad day, with five false starts, before she was able to dial Peggy's number.

"Peggy Fowler," said a clear, confident voice on the other end.

"Hi. It's Miranda. Do you-" muttered Miranda.

"Hi Miranda! What a surprise to hear from you. Have you thought about that emotional intelligence study? Dr. Choi still needs subjects." Peggy wasn't sure exactly what an IQ test on Miranda would reveal, but she'd bet it would be interesting. And maybe a wild outlier in his data would show Dr. Choi that if you're going to keep stealing someone's parking space, you shouldn't ask her to recommend test subjects.

"Uhh," Miranda floundered, momentarily thrown off script, "No, uhh, not yet. I wanted-"

 _Why did I even bother to hope that Declan didn't see that article on that kid who 'miraculously' survived in a forest fire._ "Well, if Declan thinks I can come by campus today, he's sadly mistaken. Whatever he needs, tell him I'll see him Friday for lunch and he can talk to me then."

"I'm not calling for Declan. I just want to ask you a few questions. It's about Kyra."

"Oh! Well sure, Miranda, I'll tell you what I can within the bounds of doctor-patient confidentiality." Peggy tried not to get too excited, but her inner psychiatrist was thrilled at the breakthrough that must have occurred if Miranda were willing to call her for help without Declan's prompting.

 _Thank God -- back on script._ "Declan has one, umm, theory about her, but I was thinking about something I read a few years ago. It was in _Neuroscience_. About how subliminal messages can't work."

Peggy nodded, surprised. "Yeah, I remember that article. It discussed the 'Learn while you sleep' fad and concerns over subliminal messages in music. It analyzed the supposed mechanisms, and concluded that the brain simply couldn't be affected by what it was unable to perceive. But what were you doing reading _Neuroscience_ anyway, and as an undergrad? It's not even your field."

"Emm, it was in the bathroom. Was there any follow-up research?"

"Yes, there were other studies that more thoroughly disproved the concept. But again that's for messages that the brain literally cannot consciously perceive. We receive all sorts of messages that we perceive but filter out. Those can have an effect; that's a lot of what's behind the whole advertising industry. The advertisers know we're not paying attention to each commercial, but hope to make enough of a statement to have an unconscious impact."

"Hmm. Thanks. Bye."

"Miranda, wait!" Peggy scrambled to put the pieces together. "If you're thinking that Kyra's hearing messages from somewhere, not realizing it, remembering them, and unconsciously writing them down later, that's very unlikely. She'd have to be have an incredible memory, be so sensitive that she wouldn't entirely filter the messages out, yet be too distracted to consciously remember them -- all at the same time."

"Yeah, that's Kyra. Bye." Miranda hung up, grateful to be away from the dreaded telephone.

Peggy was left holding an empty phone. _She's right,_ Peggy realized. _I described Kyra almost exactly the same way to Declan just a few days earlier._ Peggy spent the next few minutes trying to get back to work, but curiosity won out in the end. She just had to call Declan to find out what his theory about Kyra was. And of course, she ended up on campus, talking to him about the forest fire kid, too.

  


**Thursday 5pm, Declan's office**

Miranda arrived in Declan's office with the DAT recorder. "Hey."

"Hey, Miranda. Whatcha got there?"

"Answer to Kyra's problem, I think. Oh, I signed out the DAT in your name."

"Cool! Let's hear what- ... wait a second, how long have you been able to forge my signature?"

"About eighteen and a half months now."

Declan nodded, pursing his lips. "That's good to know. Maybe I'll start reading my credit card bills."

"4121351276948308," Miranda muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

Declan threw her what he thought was a stern look. "So what about Kyra?"

"When she said that the writing usually happened at night in her room...I've examined these dorms before. The walls look thick, but they're hollow. For sound, the two material phase shifts cause some interference and dissonant wave disruption, but tonal quality is not reduced to zero." Miranda glanced at Declan; he was squinting in a way that told her she should slow down. "So, muffled conversations are coming through her walls. She thinks she's politely ignoring them, but her memory is so good that she's just storing them for later. And she's so compassionate that she can't help but respond to them in some way."

"Is that what you have there, the messages she's hearing?"

"Yup. Tuesday night I tried putting the DAT on voice activation mode outside Kyra's door, but it filled up too quickly. Her dorm's a noisy place. So last night around 9:00pm I brought the DAT and some homework and sat in the hall. At 2:18am, I got this from behind the door next to Kyra."

> "'Mom, is he asleep? Good. Please, Mom, listen to me. You've got to get out. I'm worried about you and I'm worried about Christine. I know he's not hitting her but she's only twelve! Seeing what he's doing to you has got to be tearing her apart, just like it's tearing me apart not to be able to help. I know I don't have all the answers but the first step has got to be to take Christine and leave. Please-"

Miranda stopped the tape. "Pretty much speaks for itself," she said sounding a little choked up. "Kyra's neighbor, her name's Andrea Street, is from Hawaii -- two hours ahead of us -- so if she wanted to be sure her father was asleep..."

Declan nodded. "She'd wait to call until after midnight in Hawaii. Kyra stays up late though, like another crazy grad student I know." Declan looked up at Miranda. "Good work, Miranda. So Kyra's not a saint, huh?" he added a little sadly.

"No. Well at least not yet, but if she helps get Andrea out of this, I'd vote for her."

"Well," Declan said, with an expression that indicated that it was a good thing Mr. Street was in Hawaii, "who wants to give Kyra the happy news?"

  


**Monday 9:00am, Physics Lab**

Kyra came into class at the beginning of the week brimming over with good will. She snuck up behind Miranda and hugged her. Miranda tried to jump, stiffen, and glare all at once. She finally managed to pry Kyra off of her.

"What is wrong with-"

"SOOOO," Kyra interrupted, her eyes widening to the point where they threatened to take over her face, "how did it go on Friday?!"

Kyra, of course, had been an unstoppable blur of helpful energy once Miranda had told her what was going on. She had missed class last Friday because she had to catch a flight to Hawaii with Andrea. They spent the weekend helping Andrea's mom and sister move. As noble a cause as this trip was, it had meant that Miranda had to stay in class to perform the Report Day experiment and give the presentation by herself.

Miranda shrugged. "Not bad. I just pretended I was explaining it to you on a day when you were being particularly thick. Got an A-."

 _Wow, that's practically a compliment. From Miranda. Will wonders never cease?_ "That's so great!!"

 _Oh God, she's going to hug me again._ Sure enough, Kyra pounced. Miranda tolerated it for a few seconds then said, "Am I going to have to put two stools between us now?"

Kyra gave a guilty smile and let go. "Sorry, but I'm just so relieved. Andrea and her mom and sister are going to be okay. I'm not crazy. Oh, and I even have a new nickname. Somehow my middle name got out and everyone must think it's weirder than my last name. They're calling me St. Kyra now instead of Demented. I think that's an improvement, don't you?"

Miranda nodded, wondering if Declan knew his 'saint' theory had spread all over campus.

"Hey, what's your middle name? Declan said it was something weird but he wouldn't tell me what."

"None of your business."

Kyra rolled her eyes. Undaunted she moved on to new gossip. "Y'know, I heard something really interesting yesterday. Someone was telling me how well you did on the presentation. Apparently you did so well that one of our classmates has developed quite the little crush on you. Wanna know who?"

"Okay."

"Lisa Traynor. So are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Interested! You know, gay...or bisexual?"

Miranda had to turn around on her stool to give Kyra the full effect of a glare that said 'I wouldn't tell you my middle name; what makes you think I'd talk about my sex life?'

"Okay, okay, forget I asked. I was just thinking if you were, you could do a lot worse. I mean, she's really smart. If she had a better lab partner, she'd give us a run for our money for highest grade."

Miranda couldn't resist. "What makes you think intelligence is my primary criterion?"

"Oooh! You want a studmuffin, huh? Well, I can set you up with Brad Dancer - you know, the cute guy who can never find his way to class. I mean, sure he's an undergrad but he's probably still older that you."

Miranda opened her mouth to reply, with a quick hope that her powers of sarcasm wouldn't fail her now. She didn't notice that amongst the other equations in her notebook, she had neatly written 'Kyra = Friend.'


End file.
